


Catharsis

by LostSoftSpaceDyke



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley talks about falling, M/M, i feel religious guilt in this chili's tonight, tagged as teen because this one is a little dark, there are feelings, there's a lot of Crowley's low self esteem in this, there's also a lot of self blame, this is really heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 21:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSoftSpaceDyke/pseuds/LostSoftSpaceDyke
Summary: "He’s never spoken about this before, but not because he doesn’t think it would help. He’s just never thought he was worth helping."Aziraphale helps Crowley work through his feelings about Falling. Crowley talks about it fully for the first time.





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly this was really hard to write and even harder to upload. But its cathartic so up it goes. As per usual, let me know if its any good. Content warning for feelings of worthlessness, depression, and for self blame.

The fingers carding through his hair are so gentle, so light that Crowley almost wonders if he’s imagining their touch. It’s as if the hand moving gently against his scalp worries that any stronger a touch would shatter him. He very much appreciates this, being cared for and worried over for a change, although he won’t admit this to Aziraphale. Maybe one day, but not now. They have more important things to do for now. 

Aziraphale is infinitely soft in the absolute best of ways. His thighs are the pillow beneath Crowley’s head, one hand like a soft summer breeze through his hair, and the other a grounding touch around his own, their fingers twined.  _ He’s trying to make me comfortable, to make things easier,  _ Crowley thinks to himself. They’ve agreed to talk through things so that they better understand where the other is coming from and how best to help each other. But Crowley is so used to worrying over Aziraphale rather than himself. If he’s being quite honest, he’s also used to not seeing himself as worth worrying over. This is new and uncomfortable in a way that is far beyond the usual “reliving trauma” discomfort. 

He’s never spoken about this before, but not because he doesn’t think it would help. He’s just never thought he was worth helping. 

His expression must have changed because Aziraphale’s gaze turns sad and the hand that was gently scratching at his scalp has come down to rub his cheek. 

“We don’t have to do this if it’s too hard for you. We can talk about something else or go on a drive if that’s easier,” Aziraphale says, voice barely above a whisper in the quiet of the bookstore. 

“No,” he says, a little too suddenly, and the dryness of his throat makes the word crack. “No, we should do this. We talked about yours already. Only fair we talk about mine.”

The last session had been impromptu. Aziraphale had made a passive comment about being soft. Crowley, who was barely focusing on the conversation as he lounged on the sofa, made an equally passive comment about how he liked Aziraphale soft. The expression Aziraphale had made -  _ elated, confused, surprised, a little sad  _ \- had left Crowley with a bad taste in his mouth. So he asked. And two hours later, Aziraphale was curled up on his lap, crying against his shoulder about how truly cruel some of his superiors were, and Crowley was really wishing he’d killed Gabriel with the hellfire when he’d had the chance. 

But it had helped, it seemed, to get it all out there. Cathartic, Aziraphale had said at breakfast the next morning. It had made Crowley more aware of the sore spots Aziraphale had in conversation, little things that Crowley sometimes said and that resulted in Aziraphale closing up. The way he flinched any time Crowley touched him by surprise. The way he sometimes got sad and sat in the back room with a book he’d read a million times before and just cried. It made sense. And, for once, Crowley finally felt like he could help. 

Now Aziraphale wanted to return the favour. Crowley owed Aziraphale so many explanations that he agreed. 

So now he’s laying on the couch with his legs flung over the armrest of the chair and his eyes closed under Aziraphale’s touch. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t dare look up at Aziraphale, because he knows he might actually cry if he does so. But then he speaks and he realizes that he’s going to cry regardless. 

“The physical pain wasn’t the worst, actually,” he starts, not even sure where to begin but just going with whatever comes to mind. He knows that if he stops to think too much he won’t say anything at all. “It’s the emotional shit. Like can you imagine, you and a few friends become the first thing God has ever hated? Like you’ve looked up to this being that is so beyond you, above you. Everything in you was made to want Her affection and approval. And suddenly one bad decision is enough to trigger emotions in Her that you didn’t even think She was capable of. It’s terrifying to be the first thing to disappoint someone your entire being wants to be loved by.”

Aziraphale stays quiet but his heart aches. His thumb starts rubbing little reassuring circles against Crowley’s palm. It serves as a tiny reminder for Crowley to breathe.

“That’s what hurts the most. Not the burning. Not the physical fall. Just the rejection,” he continues, tentatively now. He’s always tiptoed around these topics, knowing how much Aziraphale still bought into the whole ‘infinitely compassionate God’ thing and not wanting to change that. He doesn’t want Aziraphale to be bitter. He especially doesn’t want Aziraphale to lose his belief in the goodness of everyone. If anyone is truly infinitely loving, it's not God. It’s Aziraphale. He doesn’t want to ruin that. 

But he owes Aziraphale an explanation even if it means that it might change the angel’s worldview for the worse. It might be better for him, if anything. Maybe if he realizes that everyone is just doing things for self advancement, Aziraphale will stop letting other people take advantage of his kindness. Maybe he’ll stop letting other people hurt him. 

Crowley swallows the lump in his throat. 

“A-And then you live with that. Knowing God hates you for asking questions, for being curious, for exercising the free will that She gave you in the first place,” he says quietly. He’s too tired to be angry right now. “And She goes and creates people, people who fuck up so often and so easily that its almost comical. The people themselves begin to accept that doing things wrong is part of what makes them  _ people _ . The people actively reject  _ Her  _ sometimes, and they do it in ways that are way more blatant than anything any of us down in hell ever did. But She loves them anyways. She loves them so much that she feels hurt when they feel hurt, each and every individual one of them. Do you know how much worse that is? She loves all these dumb mortals walking around no matter what they do but you, who dedicated your life to Her for an eternity before the creation of time, get kicked out on the first strike.”

He doesn’t know when he started crying, only just barely registering it when Aziraphale’s thumb brushes gently at the wet spots on his cheek. His hand is shaking slightly against Crowley’s skin and its worrying enough to make Crowley open his eyes and look up at the worried, pale face of the only living creature on heaven and earth that he’s still capable of loving.  _ He’s crying,  _ and Crowley aches with guilt.  _ I’ve overstepped. I’ve said too much. I’m hurting him. _ Crowley sits up immediately at the thought, perhaps a bit too abrupt from the way Aziraphale flinches, but he gathers him up in his arms. It’s a silent apology, they both understand.

“I can stop if you want,” he whispers against his shoulder. He feels the soft shake of his angel’s head against his hair. 

“I just…” Aziraphale starts. His voice is thick with six thousand years worth of unspoken emotion. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. Truly.”

“S’not your fault,” he replies, still buried against Aziraphale’s soft coat, trying to relax after having just put into words everything he’s felt since the dawn of time. “Ineffable, right? She makes Her own decisions as she sees fit, on her own whims. She decides who is worth forgiving and who is not. I’m not...I’m not worth forgiving. That’s all there is to it.”

Crowley feels Aziraphale’s hand between them, the slight push, and he panics internally. That’s it.  _ That’s it.  _ To be rejected at a time like this would be cruel, to say the least, but maybe Aziraphale has finally realized that Crowley isn’t worth his time. 

He’s too caught up in his worrying to notice Aziraphale’s hand cupping his cheek until the touch becomes slightly forceful, angling Crowley’s head so that their eyes meet. “She’s wrong, then.”

It takes Crowley a minute to process the words, the touch. It takes him even longer to work through the collage of emotions behind Aziraphale’s eyes. “What?”

“She’s wrong. If you’re right, and She thinks you’re not worth forgiving, then She’s wrong. It’s Her loss,” Aziraphale continues. Heaven will probably punish him eternally for blasphemy at his words but he doesn’t care. If he’s damned for sticking up for the demon he considers his soulmate, then so be it. “Don’t define your worth by her standards. She’s missing out on one of the most loving, intelligent,  _ beautiful  _ members of her creation and that’s Her fault, not yours.”

Crowley is crying again, knowing there’s no use in trying to stop it now, just leaning into Aziraphale’s touch like his life depends on it. He doesn’t know if he believes his words but Aziraphale spoke them with such conviction that he feels guilty  _ not  _ believing them. So he just cries. 

“Oh, my  _ dear _ ,” Aziraphale sighs, gathering him back up again and rubbing his back with a heavy hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Crowley tries to think it over but he’s just so_ tired_.

“Just...just stay.”

“Always, my love.”


End file.
